some moments last forever
by glueskin
Summary: a-qing falls ill. xiao xingchen and xue yang take a moment to talk. all in all, it's just another day in yi city. (mdzs/mo dao zu shi fic)


i forgot to xpost this here lol i posted it on ao3 christmas day...anyway. xue yang sure exists huh? 

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Xue Yang closes the door to the coffin house behind him with a sigh of relief. While he'd rather not be out in the cold, it's definitely preferable to hovering uselessly as Xiao Xingchen washes the sick off A-Qing's clothes and body.

He's never cared for propriety—why would he? A delinquent street orphan has no need for such things, but even he's got some limits. Best to leave the cleaning to the blind man.

In the middle of winter the quiet Yi City seems less like a city and more like a timeless fantasy—a rustic city cloaked in white, snow drifting through the dim afternoon light idly.

Anybody else might find the scene breathtaking. As his breath fogs the air, Xue Yang only finds it bothersome; sure, it's picturesque, but that's all it is. A pretty sight won't lessen his hatred.

Especially right now. As he braces his left hand against the wall—kept dry from the eaves—his remaining fingers spasm and ache uselessly and refuse to unbend from the loose fist he had curled them into.

He exhales sharply, trying to reign in his aggravation so he doesn't punch the wall instead. He waits for it to pass, counting the seconds until he's finally able to unfurl his fingers.

When he can, he flexes his fingers a few times to make sure they aren't going to lock up again immediately. The action makes the dull ache in them feel somewhat sharper, but they don't freeze on him, so Xue Yang lowers himself to a dry patch of wood a few feet from the door.

There's nothing to do but wait. Restless, Xue Yang smooths out his worn robes, rubbing his aching left fingers with his right hand as he watches the snow fall as it has for the past several days.

Well, not quite. It's coming down softer and slower than it has been, which is good. It's already difficult to move around outside as it is, but if it keeps snowing as heavily as it had been before, they would well and truly be snowed into the coffin house.

Xue Yang wouldn't mind that so much. A-Qing would go stir-crazy, though, being stuck indoors for so long—though she won't have much of a choice now, he muses. Xiao Xingchen will probably be fussing over her even after her fever breaks and she's well enough to go outside again.

It's her own fault, though. He'd offhandedly warned her about staying out in the snow for hours yesterday, so she'd stayed out even longer out of spite. Idiot.

Xue Yang lets his mind drift as he waits. He massages his left hand enough that it relaxes and the ache recedes, so he idly drags his right forefinger through the snow that has piled up outside of the cover of the eaves.

He doesn't think about much. He briefly wonders about how Jin GuangYao and his plans are progressing, then feels irritated at the memory of the man and thinks about whether or not he can get his hands on some syrup in town.

He's had a craving. As much as he hates winter, syrup on snow makes it more tolerable that it would be otherwise.

Xue Yang is in the throes of fantasizing about how much syrup he can talk his way into buying at the cheapest possible prices from the local vendors when the door nearby slides open slowly.

He pulls his hand out from the snow, glancing up from the scenery he hadn't been paying attention to. He hadn't even noticed he'd shoved his whole hand in at some point while he spacing out.

Xiao Xingchen steps out of from the doorway, dressed only in half of his layers of clothes and yet showing no sign of discomfort from the cold.

He closes the door carefully behind him as if to minimize the noise of the wood sliding together, so A-Qing must have fallen asleep. When he turns from the doorway, he opens his mouth as if to speak.

"Here, Daozhang," Xue Yang says before he gets the chance, knocking the knuckles of his right hand against the dry wood at his side.

"Ah, you're still here," Xiao Xingchen comments, sounding pleased. He walks carefully towards Xue Yang, flurries of snow catching on the dark of his hair and melting against his skin.

Xue Yang looks away and doesn't let himself think about why.

"Did Little Blind give you much trouble?" He asks as Xiao Xingchen kneels down beside him, legs folding beneath him. He sits too close, the white fabric of his sleeves brushing against Xue Yang's own dark robes, but he doesn't move away.

"No, she was quite docile. Being sick seems to have taken a lot out of her—she fell asleep while I was washing her."

A docile A-Qing sounds more mythical than anything Xue Yang has ever heard, but he supposes if anyone can instill that in her it's Xiao Xingchen.

"I, ah, also put her in your bed," Xiao Xingchen adds, sounding somewhat apologetic.

"Don't worry about it. I'll share the floor with you," Xue Yang says dismissively. Normally he would be irritated, but he can make an exception.

"That's...you aren't taking the coffin?" Xiao Xingchen asks, and Xue Yang looks at him, brows lifted in surprise even if the other man can't see it.

"Daozhang...even A-Qing is going to outgrow that coffin soon," he says. Xiao Xingchen makes a startled noise.

"It's that small…? And she's growing so fast. We haven't even been here…" he trails off, brow furrowing as he realizes they have, in fact, been here quite a while. "Oh. It's our second winter here, isn't it?"

"It is," Xue Yang agrees, watching him carefully. Will he finally ask why Xue Yang hasn't left?

He doesn't. Instead he slowly smiles.

"Time certainly flies, doesn't it?" Xiao Xingchen sounds wistful. Xue Yang is trying to figure out whether the question is rhetorical or not when the man continues, saying, "I suppose come spring we might have to consider another bed for A-Qing—or another building with more rooms, if we wish to remain here. A girl her age is probably going to want her own space soon enough."

Xue Yang wonders if he knows how parental he sounds.

"A girl her age usually wouldn't have put up with staying in the same room as two unrelated men to begin with," Xue Yang says instead. Xiao Xingchen's expression twists with slight confusion.

"Really…? She's never said anything," he says, tone both doubtful and worried.

"I said usually," Xue Yang says with a shrug the man won't see. "You met her on the streets, didn't you? She probably cares about propriety as much as I do. If I were a well-raised man, I'd have issues with it too," he says.

"I hadn't thought about it," Xiao Xingchen admits, brow still furrowed. Xue Yang almost wants to reach out to smooth the skin—a sudden, stupid impulse that he immediately quells. "But I suppose that makes sense…"

 _Seriously, what kind of life did he live on that mountain?_ Xue Yang thinks.

"Well, no use worrying about it now," Xue Yang says. "It doesn't matter—especially if we do move." At that, Xiao Xingchen turns towards him as if startled, and Xue Yang smiles.

"Was that too presumptuous? You were talking like I would go with you, so I just assumed."

"It wasn't," Xiao Xingchen assures. "It's just, you've been with us so long...I had wondered if you had plans for when the winter passed." When travel will be easier, he doesn't say.

But that proves Xiao Xingchen _has_ been thinking of whether he would stay indefinitely—Xue Yang wants to ask, _would you prefer it if I left?_

Instead, he says, "I've never thought about things like that. I'm fine where I am now with you and that brat inside. Unless Daozhang decides I've intruded long enough, at least."

It's not entirely a lie. Since he was young, the only long term goal he had ever held for his future was the painful death of Chang CiAn and most of his sect. He's already seen that through, and so he has nothing else.

Perhaps that's why Jin GuangYao had finally done away with him. It's not as easy to guarantee the loyalty of someone who has nothing left.

Before his thought process can spiral down unpleasant road again, Xiao Xingchen smiles. It's hard to think of anything in the face of such an expression.

"Is that so? Then, I'm sorry to say you are likely to be here quite a while yet."

 _I'm not tired of you. I won't be tired of you._

A year ago, such kindness had filled him with disgust and a perverse sense of joy. If Xiao Xingchen knew who he was, he would surely go mad.

A year ago, he had told himself, _just a while longer. A bit more time, and then I'll tell him. I'll let him know just who he saved before I kill him._

He feels no disgust, now, and no sick joy. He feels something else, a nauseating emotion he can't quite name and isn't so sure he wants to.

The bandages covering Xiao Xingchen's eyes are slipping loose where they're tied together. Both of Xue Yang's hands ache with a desire to reach out, but he doesn't; he clenches his fingers into fists instead and only partially succeeds; again, his left hand doesn't cooperate, fingers spasming and locking in place.

A snowflake catches on Xiao Xingchen's cheek. Xue Yang watches it melt against the skin and tears his gaze away again, staring down at his own hands.

"It's my turn to cook," Xue Yang finally says. "What should I make, Daozhang?"

Xiao Xingchen says nothing about the lengthy pause. He also politely ignores the fact it's _his_ turn to cook. He smiles again, beautiful in a way that used to make Xue Yang want to tear his face apart.

"Something light. We'll have to wake A-Qing to see if she can hold anything down...I think we have some chicken stock left, don't we?"

"We do," Xue Yang confirms, making a face at the thought of just having broth. Well. They have bread too, at least.

Still, he moves to get up, standing slowly. Xiao Xingchen follows suit and pushes himself up with ease. His bandages begin to slip, finally coming loose, and Xue Yang finds that, for the first time, he doesn't want to see what's beneath.

"Daozhang, your bandages," he says as he averts his gaze, and Xiao Xingchen lifts his hand to touch the cotton with surprise.

"Ah, thank you. Could you fix it?" He asks, but he's already turning and angling his head back expectantly. Xue Yang freezes.

He has no reason not to.

"Sure, Daozhang," he says with a calmness that he doesn't quite feel. He steps closer, reaching up to where the cotton is coming out of a poorly-tied knot.

His left fingers are working again, thankfully. All except for the useless fake stuffed into the pinky of his left glove, at any rate, but he doesn't need that for this.

Part of him wants to push Xiao Xingchen's long hair away from his neck. He doesn't. He also doesn't think about how now is the perfect time—while A-Qing is feverish and Xiao Xingchen is once again being so disgustingly trusting of him—to be done with this farce.

It would be easy for Xue Yang to snap Xiao Xingchen's neck right now.

Instead, he carefully ties the bandages back into place, plastering on his best bullshit smile—for his own sake, even if it can't be seen by the man in question.

"All done. Let's get inside, Daozhang."

Xiao Xingchen turns to him, smiling once more.

"Yes, let's."


End file.
